It isn’t the fireflies and their fickle pops of luminescence
They know not the exuberance and awe they cause in children’s eyes
Lighting up a sticky dusky sky with otherworldly magic pulses
It isn’t the cicadas and their symphonic calls to Mother Nature herself
Goodbye you, Hello you they seem to sing as the sun trades shifts with the moon
Reverberant bands of ‘good ol days’ gently drum on barbecuers’ ears
It isn’t the block parties gathered together for feasting and laughing, cigars and sparklers
All the moms and dads and sons and daughters and aunties and uncles and cousins and abuelas and opas and neighbors and friends…
The last of the smoldering charcoal consecrates the night air
It isn’t the watermelon, with seeds please, and strawberry cake dancing on tongues
Ripe juice bursting down chins and onto warm pavement or maybe concrete steps
As though life itself is meant to be relished and chewed to the heart’s content
It isn’t the sunscreen, with its chemicalcoconut scent, slathered on indelicately
Chlorine permeating every pore, every follicle, reminding skin that solstice is nearby
Air conditioning can’t compete with cannonballs or Marco Polo or weightless handstands
It’s the sweaty sweet reminder of burdenlessness; a time before
Of bike rides and beach trips, of innocence as far as the eye can see
It’s the tug on the heart that life once stretched out ad infinitum, fractals of only possibility
And it was good.